


Birthright

by theLiterator



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, DickDamiWeek, Gen, Wakes & Funerals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-06
Updated: 2016-09-06
Packaged: 2018-08-13 08:47:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7970461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theLiterator/pseuds/theLiterator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>They buried Batman on a Monday, just like they’d buried Dick’s parents, only this time there wasn’t anyone to hold Dick’s hand and make sure that he had an umbrella so he didn’t get soaked with rain. There was no Bruce Wayne to comfort him in his grief, and with Alfred a wreck in the front row, listening solemnly to the pastor’s speech, tears mingling with the rain, Dick was pretty sure there wouldn’t be </i>anyone.<i></i></p><p>
  <i>No seconds-too-late hero emerging from the fire to scoop him back up and save him; no one to make sure he wasn’t truly an orphan.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Dick stood and stared at the closed casket in his wet wool suit-- a new one, since he’d grown in the two years since his parents’ deaths-- and shivered and didn’t cry.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Birthright

They buried Batman on a Monday, just like they’d buried Dick’s parents, only this time there wasn’t anyone to hold Dick’s hand and make sure that he had an umbrella so he didn’t get soaked with rain. There was no Bruce Wayne to comfort him in his grief, and with Alfred a wreck in the front row, listening solemnly to the pastor’s speech, tears mingling with the rain, Dick was pretty sure there wouldn’t be _anyone._

No seconds-too-late hero emerging from the fire to scoop him back up and save him; no one to make sure he wasn’t truly an orphan.

Dick stood and stared at the closed casket in his wet wool suit-- a new one, since he’d grown in the two years since his parents’ deaths-- and shivered and didn’t cry.

People were still coming, a trickle of mourners to join their little huddle of misery, and Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne’s ward, wouldn’t have known a single one of them, but Robin, Batman’s sidekick, did.

Superman didn’t even look at him, just went to stand up next to Alfred and drop a hand on his shoulder, and Wonder Woman’s fingers brushed through his hair just briefly before she went to stand off to the side to look on, and then…

Ra’s al Ghul, which made Dick’s heart rate triple and his palms get slick and sweaty, but surely Ra’s wasn’t going to attack at a _funeral_? He’d always thought Ra’s rather _liked_ Bruce, and Bruce had sure had some conflicting opinions on _Ra’s_ , so surely--

Ra’s came close and settled right next to Dick, and then his hand dropped to Dick’s shoulder and squeezed it just the same way Bruce always had, and then Dick was _really_ crying, a thin, howling noise escaping from his throat as he leaned into the comforting touch and realized all over again that Bruce would _never_ squeeze his shoulder again.

Ra’s wrapped the edge of his robes around Dick and tucked him against his side, so he had a warm, solid human to muffle his sobs against and so the rain stopped making him shiver.

No one else seemed to notice, because the silence of the gathering didn’t ease and the pastor’s voice didn’t falter: but he was probably used to kids getting upset at funerals. It was probably perfectly normal for a ten year old to start bawling the second another mourner joined him.

And it wasn’t like he would know that Ra’s al Ghul was an assassin and evil, now was it?

They went back up to the manor for the memorial, and Ra’s’s hand stayed on Dick’s shoulder, and when Dick glanced back up at him, his young face was utterly impassive.

Ra’s settled them down on a bench in the dayroom, opposite the tables of food, and he wrapped awkward arms around Dick’s shoulders and rocked with him until Dick felt a little more human, a little more even, which was weird and _nice_ and not at all what he expected from Ra’s al Ghul, the Demon’s Head, Batman’s sworn nemesis.

“D’ya want to get something to eat?” Dick asked, hoarse and croaking from all the crying he’d been doing.

“None of it is to my taste, little bird,” Ra’s replied quietly, a weak and tremulous smile on his face. Dick decided he was at least a little bit upset that Batman was dead, which made a sort of sense: Batman had been _his_ nemesis, not the nemesis of a stupid earthquake. Ra’s al Ghul should have killed him, not Mother Nature.

“M’name’s Dick,” Dick told him, in case he didn’t know. Ra’s hadn’t ever called him ‘Robin’ either, though. Just ‘little bird’ like he was some sort of annoyance, not worthy of a proper name. Batman had said it was meant to get under his skin, so Dick had decided he liked the nickname, just so it never would.

Ra’s scoffed. “I know that,” he said, still quiet. “ _Little bird_.”

Dick felt himself smiling shyly up at him, and Ra’s didn’t exactly smile _back_ , but his blank expression got a little softer around the edges, especially his eyes, and Dick thought that maybe counted.

“What are you _doing!_ ” Superman demanded suddenly, grabbing Dick’s shoulder and hauling him away from Ra’s. “Don’t you _dare_ touch him!”

“I was sharing my brother’s grief,” Ra’s said. “Am I not allowed that?”

“You--”

“Master Clark!” Alfred said, and both men turned to face him. “Master Damian has been and always will be welcome in this house. And he knows this.”

Dick looked up at Ra’s, whose face had gone hard and cold and remote again, even the traces of grief erased. “That is not my name.”

“It is the name your mother gave you,” Alfred said gently. “And it suits you quite a bit better than ‘The Demon’s Head’.”

Ra’s shook his head, and Dick inched around Superman until he was back up against Ra’s’s side. To his surprise, Ra’s picked him up and let him press his face against his shoulder. Dick didn’t have any more tears right then, but it felt better than standing on the floor and watching everyone else be upset at each other and at Batman; all trying to eat the buffet and tell happy stories like they were supposed to, for a memorial.

“You will be staying, at least for the evening?” Alfred asked. “Master Bruce’s lawyers wanted to know how to find you; likely you will need to sign some things for him.”

Ra’s sighed heavily. “I have cleared the entire week,” he said. “I cannot take longer than that.”

Alfred made a soft noise of approval, and then Ra’s settled them back down on the bench.

Dick didn’t try to climb away from him, he just pressed his face harder into Ra’s’s shoulder until Ra’s started stroking his hair and then he fell asleep.

***

The next morning, Dick _forgot_. It seemed like a momentous thing to forget, when he looked up at the man in Bruce’s favorite study and realized it wasn’t Bruce at all, because Bruce was _dead_ ; but he’d _forgotten_ so when he saw the young man who looked enough like Bruce in profile that it had taken Dick too many seconds to _remember_ , he started crying again.

“Little bird, no,” Ra’s said, and Dick tried to shake his head, to stop the crying-- he’d cried enough about losing Bruce, had cried more about him than his own _parents_ which didn’t seem right-- but couldn’t get control.

“I’m sorry,” Ra’s said lowly, and then he smacked Dick across the cheek sharply, and Dick was startled back into calmness.

His breath was shaky, and he stared at Ra’s.

“I’ll use a different office, going forward,” he said.

Dick nodded, then shook his head. “What do you mean? I thought you said you could only stay the week? And why are you staying for the week? Alfred _likes you_.” The last came out an accusation.

“You had better read this,” Ra’s said, and then he pulled a stapled packet of papers off the desk and handed it to Dick.

He leaned over and pointed to a paragraph, and Dick started reading aloud. “In the event that I should die while my ward, Richard Grayson, is still a minor, I appoint my son and heir, Damian Wayne, as Guardian of said minor child. His Trust shall continue to be maintained by …” he bit his lip and looked up at Ra’s.

“Who’s Damian Wayne?” he asked, even though he knew the answer.

Ra’s smiled a dark, grim smile and shook his head. “Damian Wayne is dead,” he said. “Long live the immortal Ra’s al Ghul.”

Dick cocked his head. “You don’t look dead,” he said, greatly daring, and this time, Ra’s-- _Damian_ \-- actually smiled at him.

Dick kind of liked it.

“How long has it been since you’ve trained, little bird?” Damian asked, abruptly standing up and smoothing out his robes.

Dick shrugged, thinking. “Before the earthquake,” he answered, but he was no longer sure how long ago that had been.

“Well,” Damian said. “It will probably do you some good, and I’m certain Father didn’t mean for me to allow you to lose your edge through negligence.”

Dick probably should have been surprised that Damian-who-was-also-Ra’s knew exactly how to get into the Cave, but he wasn’t, not really, though he was surprised when Alfred found them later and looked _happy_.

“Pennyworth,” Damian said, inclining his head slightly.

“I’m glad to see you up and about, Master Richard,” Alfred said.

Dick shrugged. He didn’t want to explain how he’d _forgotten_ for a few minutes, and how Damian hadn’t let him go back to hiding from the pain in his room.

Damian accepted the sandwiches and tea that Alfred handed him, and he ate without even eying the food dubiously, which struck Dick as particularly un-assassin-like behavior.

“So?” Alfred said after a few minutes.

Damian replied by scoffing and staring at his teacup.

“I can go take a shower,” Dick offered. Usually Bruce would just tell him to, when he wanted to talk to Alfred alone, but Damian was absolutely nothing like Bruce except in all the ways he totally was.

Damian shook his head and reached out to grab Dick’s shoulder; stopping him. “No, don’t go. You deserve to be a part of this.”

Dick blinked at him.

“You’re an orphan twice over, Grayson,” Damian said, and it wasn’t gentle, but it wasn’t cruel, either. It was matter-of-fact, a thing that was true and that all three of them knew.

“You’re an orphan too,” Dick replied; a guess, really, because Damian had probably _had_ a mother, and he might yet still, but the League of Assassins didn’t really seem the place for mothers.

Damian stared at him.

Dick stared back.

“You’re skilled enough, in a fight, and I can… it would be possible for me to take over your training until you can assume Batman’s mantle. But that isn’t your only choice.”

“You mean I should join the League of Assassins?”

Damian and Alfred looked simultaneously horrified, and Dick thought it was pretty funny, but he didn’t dare laugh.

“ _No_ ,” Damian bit out after a long second. “The League is no place for a child,” he added coldly.

Alfred made a concerned tutting noise, and he reached for Damian like he might try to squeeze his shoulder, but let his hand drop before making contact.

“You and Alfred have rather generous trusts, and I am the sole other inheritor of my Father’s estate,” he said. “If I am unable to be located, your guardianship and the entire rest of the estate falls to Alfred. I can leave, and you can grow up much the same way my Father did.”

Dick looked between the two of them. “Didn’t Bruce just eventually find the League and train under… you?”

“My grandfather,” Damian corrected, smiling wryly. “The immortal Ra’s al Ghul proved rather more mortal than he anticipated, in facing Father.”

“And, if I recall, attempting to possess _you_ ,” Alfred put in. “You were as instrumental in his downfall as Bruce was.”

Damian hitched his shoulder in an eloquent shrug, dismissing the praise.

“There doesn’t have to be a Batman,” he said after a long moment. He laughed then, dark and bitter. “ _You_ have a choice.”

Dick looked at him, at his green-flecked eyes that otherwise were identical to Bruce’s, at the stiff way he held himself in Dick’s gaze, and thought about what he _hadn’t_ said as much as what he’d said.

“You’re wrong,” Dick said finally. “Gotham needs Batman a lot more than the League needs Ra’s. And I--”

He thought about his parents, and how Bruce had taught him that revenge didn’t help, and he thought about how Ra’s hadn’t understood that justice and vengeance were different, how Bruce had tried to explain it to him every time they’d fought.

He thought about how hard it was to know that Bruce had been killed by an _earthquake_ , something he couldn’t bring to justice, how much worse it must be that it was something Ra’s could never take vengeance on.

“I need Batman,” Dick said, even though he was pretty sure that wasn’t true.

 _Damian_ needed Batman, and Batman needed Robin.

Alfred nodded solemnly at the pronouncement, and Damian bowed his head, scrubbing both hands over his face in a gesture eerily reflective of Bruce.

“Fine,” he said. “Pennyworth, I’ll need coffee. I must write some letters.”

Dick reached for Damian’s hand, and Damian let him have it absently, not even stumbling when Dick used it as leverage to bounce up to Damian’s shoulders.

He figured Damian would make an okay enough Batman, and he also figured that he’d be able to train him into a _fantastic_ one with a little bit of work.

The best part, though, was knowing with a deep assurance he’d never felt about his parents’ wishes for him, that _this_ was what Bruce had intended. 

Damian and Dick ducked together for the lintel at the entrance to the manor, and Dick grinned triumphantly where Damian and Alfred couldn’t see it.

**Author's Note:**

> I also wrote a short little ficlet in the same universe that takes place before this fic. [It's here, on my Tumblr.](https://theliterator.tumblr.com/post/150008319499/untitled-snippet-dick-grayson)


End file.
